Entropy
by trufflemores
Summary: On temporary hiatus.


**Author's Notes:** Hello! I hope you haven't missed me too terribly.

If you've read the New 52, you'll see obvious references; this fic has strong ties to "The Flash 6: Out of Time." Story lines will diverge, but there will be definite similarities you can follow.

Just up front: Caitlin's fine, she's just not in this chapter. Next chapter will reveal why.

Also: Flash will be the primary show involved in this fic. Arrow is more crossover related, but Arrow characters will make regular appearances.

Enjoy!

* * *

 **April 30, 2017**

Wally is _fast_.

At first Barry doesn't really absorb the gravitas of Wally's exceptional speed. The experience is _novel_ ; he runs like Barry did in the beginning, relentlessly, tearing up the streets (literally). It doesn't surprise him that Wally is the same way; Barry always runs faster for fun.

Cisco's treadmill is a miracle of modern invention, but it's routine. It lulls Barry into a meditative state of thoughtlessness. The treadmill does the work for him; he just keeps up with the machine. No thinking required. No effort, either; the Speed Force does all of the work, doesn't break a sweat.

It's a different story when he runs off-the-job. Running around the city, Barry has to trust his feet, his senses, to take him in the right directions. He can't relax in the traditional sense and settle into it. He's always aware of the flash of streets, the strain of gravity, the rush of adrenaline. It feels great. Utterly indescribable. Unchaining the Speed Force propels Barry to new heights: it gives him the release he craves, the hit he needs to _function_ , and he knows how alluring that feeling is.

So he doesn't think twice of it when Wally overtakes him. Actually, the first thought that crosses his mind is as he skids to a halt in the middle of the street is: "Guys, did you see that?"

"Damn, boy," Cisco responds in the mic. "You gonna let the rookie show you up?"

Barry grins. "Absolutely not."

The Speed Force is heavy, alive, but it doesn't run _fast_ : that's his job. He has to push against the invisible barriers of space and time. He has to channel it in such a way that his heart doesn't burst or his lungs cave. He _could_ push himself to his own extinction: it's not as hard as a non-speedster might believe. Run and run and run and run, for too long, and suddenly there is nothing left but Speed.

Vanish in thin air. Felicity predicted it – she wasn't wrong.

So he takes a breath, closes his eyes, feeling the world in that other-dimensional realm, every hummingbird and heartbeat tangible, and then he _runs_.

Half an hour later, he still hasn't caught up to Wally.

"Maybe he should slow down?" Barry gasps, coming to a halt, as he watches that red tail of lightning vanish down the street.

"Starting to show your age, old man," Cisco replies, crunching on a chip. "Your heartrate's higher than his. His oxygen levels are good, glucose levels stable. You should probably take a breather."

 _Am I showing my age?_

It actually hits him that maybe Felicity was right on a separate account – _if he moves fast, does that mean he'll age faster?_ – but he doesn't let himself dwell on it for too long.

As much fun as chasing speedsters is, he clicks the comm and says, "Keep an eye on him. I have a date."

"Go woo your lady," Cisco says, crunching on another chip, "I'll keep tabs on wonder boy."

Five seconds later, he skids to a halt in a side alley near Jitters, Flashing out of his uniform and appearing in pedestrian clothes half a second later. He folds the uniform into the smallest square patch he can before pressing the top of the ring on his left middle finger. A tiny chamber opens and Cisco's device magnetically vacuums the suit inside, compressing it to a size scarcely larger than a dime. It's an extraordinary creation: compressional technology that will be on the market in _their_ twenty-third century. It got a jumpstart courtesy of an outstanding collaborative effort between Cisco and Earth-2 Harrison Wells.

The days of running in boxers are over, too: the new suit is solid, a denser material which fits over his clothes like body armor. It's nice: he doesn't have to Speed-shop thrift stores for street clothes anymore. At first, wearing clothes underneath the suit feels strange, almost restrictive: he can feel the tiniest resistance every time his chest expands for a breath. But the new suit has dozens of benefits, including: refined heating and cooling systems, a new defibrillator, and finer carbon monoxide, smoke, and radiation detectors.

Even the skin of the suit gets a serious upgrade. Cisco installs environmental sensitivity pads: that adjustment allows Barry to turn red-hot doorknobs without getting burned. All he has to do is hover his hand over the object for a moment to let the system acclimate, whether it's boiling hot or breathtakingly cold.

His personal favorite feature is the Kevlar-like projectile resistance ("Will _not_ stop a bullet but will dilute the impact significantly"). Knives that might have passed through him glance across the shield of his chest instead, giving him the chance to catch the assailant's arm and turn the situation around. It's refreshing being able to tackle more weapon-oriented metas without relying entirely on his speed; Oliver approves of the move.

Training once every eight weeks isn't ideal, but it's a solid start.

"Hey," Barry says, grinning and sliding into the seat across from Iris, "how'd the meta article go?"

Iris gives him a look, resting her head on both hands, elbows on the table. "Have I mentioned how much I miss working with Linda?" she asks morosely.

Barry nods, reaching over and taking a sip of her coffee. "She's still doing well, right?"

"Oh, she loves Coast City," Iris says. She takes her drink back and one of his hands with it, intertwining their fingers on top of the table. "I just missing having a collaborator who doesn't _hover_."

"I'm sure Hal will grow out of it."

Iris gives him a flat look.

"Give him time," Barry insists, squeezing her hand. "It's, what, a three-month-long internship?"

" _Don't_ remind me."

Barry smiles, rubbing his thumb lightly across her knuckles. "How have _you_ been?" he asks seriously, meeting her gaze and quietly wondering where the past six weeks _went_. "I feel like we barely get to sit down and talk anymore."

 _Ever since Wally got his powers._

"To be fair, _I_ have a busy day job, _you_ have a busy day job, and you and Wally both have _very_ busy night jobs," Iris points out.

"Maybe that can change," he answers lightly.

Iris arches an eyebrow. "Do tell."

Barry tells her about how Wally and he been working together, how maybe someday he'll feel confident enough to turn over the guard to Wally for one night. The thought infuses his chest with warmth; it would be so _nice_ to just stay in and not have to worry about the city for one night. It doesn't have to be a full-time job for Wally like it is for him. One night a week – a _month_ – would be a gift beyond words.

Except handing over the night watch requires trust, and Wally still hasn't taken down a single metahuman on his own. He's great as a second, but he's still too new to put up against their increasingly dangerous targets. Barry wouldn't bring him along at all for half of the jousts if he could avoid it: he doesn't like putting anyone else's life on the line. But Wally refuses to sit on the sidelines and, with his abilities, Barry can't argue that he doesn't belong there.

Civilians need to be kept safe, but Wally isn't a civilian. He's a metahuman.

He's a _speedster_.

And he's the very first speedster who hasn't tried to kill Barry.

"Give him time," Iris echoes wryly. "He'll figure it out."

Barry huffs, looking out the window.

A speedster looks back at him.

"I have to go," he says, mouth utterly dry.

Glowing blue eyes. _Blue eyes_.

Iris follows his gaze, frowning in confusion. "Barry? What's wrong?"

Barry is on his feet too-fast, _anyone-could-see-you-Barry_ , but it doesn't matter.

 _He's still alive_.

Barry transitions mid-run into the Flash. Outside the doors, he is _almost there_ , a breath away, and then Zoom vanishes.

Fear hits him so hard he can't breathe.

 _Where is he?_

He completes half-a-revolution, scanning half the screen, before a _wall_ hits him.

He goes down and there's hundreds of pounds of pressure on his chest, pinning him firmly to the ground.

Gorilla Grodd holds a spear high above him, a triumphant snarl disfiguring his face.

 _DIE_.

The spear plunges downward and Barry has enough time to think _not good_.

Then a fire hydrant explodes.

. o .

The blast throws Grodd backwards.

Barry sprints for the sidewalks, Flashing every civilian he can grab inside the closest buildings, coming to a halt just as Grodd picks himself up, snarling loudly. There are still too many people on the streets but they're scattering, retreating into the safety of bars and bookstores, and Barry can only pray that Grodd doesn't care enough about them to attack.

Shaking himself out a little, feigning a confidence he doesn't quite feel, he shouts, "That all you got?"

Grodd _roars,_ charging forward, and the same mental wall hits Barry, but he's ready for it this time, ignoring the cold plunge of _fear_ as adrenaline surges through him.

He ducks under Grodd's outstretched arm, intending to deliver a compelling blow to the underside of his chin, when Grodd's hand encircles him and smashes him against a wall instead.

 _Fuck. When'd you get fast?_

"Hey, tough guy," Wally calls, slightly muffled, like he's speaking from the other side of a bad connection. The onslaught staggers Barry, making him gasp for air. Barry has handled metas like this before, _telepathic_ ones, but Grodd still takes the cake for sheer brute force.

Fitting.

His compelling argument arrives in the form of a fist-sized hunk of asphalt. It smashes Grodd in the back of the head hard enough to make his hand loosen, the pressure retreating from Barry's chest for half a second.

"Two's a fairer game," Wally says, feet planted, ready to roll.

Grodd growls at him and Barry can feel the wave of _You're next_ before he's pushing Barry harder against the wall and Barry – can't – breathe, crushed against brick-and-mortar, unable to phase through either wall or fist. He's starting to see black dots when there's a sickening _snick_ as a spear plunges through Grodd's left shoulder.

Grodd roars, releasing Barry and turning so fast he _almost_ catches Wally.

Barry watches Wally dart out of reach, zipping around and to the end of the street. The broken spear is still implanted in Grodd's shoulder, swaying ominously as he staggers forward. Wally staggers a little, too, struggling to limp backwards, agonizingly slow.

Cisco says something in Barry's ear, something to the effect of _happened_ and _okay?_ , but Barry can't hear him right: his ears are still ringing, the white noise of telepathic terror threatening to block out _every_ sensation.

Despite the injury, Grodd moves fast – a _lot_ faster than he should – and Barry has to think faster to overtake him.

" _Need to. . . fall back . . . Barry_."

Like hell he does.

"Wally, wanna learn a new trick?" he asks, shouting into the comm, and before he can receive a reply he runs, looping around both of them, faster and faster and faster, gaining momentum, building speed, until—

It's heavy in him, crackling, intense, and when he releases it the bolt of lightning arcs and hits Grodd so hard he goes _down_.

"Nice," Wally says as Barry skids to a halt, stepping up to inspect Grodd's unconscious form.

Tapping his mic, Barry calls out, "Cisco?" No answer. " _Cisco?_ "

"Dude," Wally says, waving a hand in front of him, Barry's senses more attuned to the tone of his words than their actual content, "you're shouting."

"We need to get him locked away before he wakes up," Barry says.

Curiosity overtakes bystanders; they're coming closer, far too close for Barry's comfort. Grodd is knocked out, but it won't last long. Even so, they can't seem to stay away; even the smell of burnt fur won't deter them.

"Flash?"

"It's _him_."

"Who's the new guy?"

"Is it dead?"

Hating to leave them alone but sensing the explosive nature of the situation, Barry turns to Wally and says, "I'll be _right back_."

Star Labs isn't far, but it feels light years away as he runs for it. He knocks every loose paper off the table as he darts inside the cortex, grabs every tranquilizer they _have_ , scribbles a note – _BRING VAN TO JITTERS_ – and takes off before Cisco can finish one word.

. o .

Thirty seconds later, a heavily sedated Grodd is still cordoned off by the two speedsters.

Wally seems amused by all of the attention, folding his arms and watching the crowd edge closer, leaning his weight back a little at the invisible line but still within easy talking distance. Barry wants to tell him to back off a little – if anyone sees his face there is a chance that they'll put a name to it – but he's got bigger problems.

Namely, the growling, _barely_ catatonic gorilla at their feet.

 _Come on, Cisco_ , he pleads, willing him to hurry up. Even between the two speedsters, they don't stand a chance _carrying_ Grodd back to Star Labs.

Iris steps up to the edge and Wally turns, meeting her gaze. Before Barry can warn him not to say her name, Wally settles for a smirk in Iris' direction before asking, "So, what's our plan? Or do you not actually have one?"

"I don't have a contingency plan for gorillas," Barry says, keeping his voice warbled, metallic. His chest still hurts from being smashed around and he can almost _feel_ the point where the spear would have killed him, but he knows he'll be good as new before they get back to Star Labs. _Well_ before, at this rate.

 _Come on, Cisco._

He watches Iris for a moment, tempted to walk over and ask her why the hell _Grodd_ is here, they sent him back to Earth-2 – a sinking feeling in his chest, _the portal reopened_ – before a loud snarl draws his attention to their quarry.

"Guess nap time's over," Wally says, looking at their discarded pile of syringes. "Now what?"

Grodd struggles to his feet.

 _Now what?_

Grodd snarls at him, lumbering forward; Barry sidesteps his lethargic swipe.

Three darts bloom in the center of Grodd's chest, knocking him over, and Barry turns to see Harrison Wells lower the tranq gun from the window of the van, decisively pulling a hat lower over his head.

"Get him in," Cisco adds, waving frantically, as Barry and Wally each take a massive arm and _heave_.

The Speed Force is malleable enough that it can lighten the load of even the heaviest human to a manageable degree – almost like carrying it underwater: it easily weight that's crushing in the air – but Grodd tips the scales at fourteen hundred pounds. Maybe more. Not a chance in hell Barry could carry him any distance.

The Speed Force reduces his weight to four hundred pounds, but it's still a non-manageable size. Even with Wally's help, they struggle to tow his massive hide into the back of the van, cramming him inside as best they can. Getting the doors shut is a feat; Barry isn't sure they'll manage, but fear gives him the strength to manage it.

The van takes off, Wally zipping around front – "I've got this" – while Barry trails behind, ready to fight if need be.

The occasion does not arise, and Barry wonders briefly what Harrison put in the darts, but then they're back at the Labs and struggling to drag Grodd down the hallway.

It's only when his pounding heart calms enough for Barry to really hear Harrison and Cisco speak that he picks up on a disturbing silence.

Stopping mid-walk, halfway down the corridor, he puts a hand on Grodd's wrist, his throat, his chest.

He isn't breathing. And he doesn't have a pulse.

"What the hell did you put in those darts?" Barry rasps.

 _I trusted you_.

"Relax, Allen," Harrison says, sounding more tired than annoyed, pausing to turn and look at him. "It's a very powerful sedative. Induces a torpor-like state. He'll be fine once we give him the antidote." Then he turns back, striding down the hallway and adding, "What we need to worry about is _why_ Grodd is here in the first place."

"Did he come through a breach?" Cisco responds, tapping thoughtfully on his tablet, a red vine hanging from his mouth. Then, recognizing the magnitude of his statement, he says, "Oh."

" _Oh_ indeed," Harrison echoes succinctly.

"Breach?" Wally asks, still dragging their charge down the hallway, nonplussed by the weight: it moves easier against the smooth floors than it did asphalt.

"You haven't told him?" Cisco asks, impressed.

"Haven't told me what?" Wally asks.

Barry thinks, _Let's get the gorilla away first_.

Maybe he says it out loud, or maybe his silence puts an end to it for now. Either way, a pounding headache makes responding too much effort. He hates telepathic attacks: they linger like migraines, echoing in his skull as a reminder of his own shortcomings.

"You're sure he'll wake up?" Barry asks slowly, helping Wally drag Grodd into the massive holding container.

"I'm positive," Harrison says shortly.

Cisco punches in the requirements to close the cell, the three of them watching the glass door drop down, sealing him inside.

They stand in silence for a moment, watching the deadweight, like they're expecting it to lunge at them, shatter the glass and resume its attack.

Grodd doesn't move.

He _does_ breathe, but it's less than one breath per minute; he also has a pulse, Barry's sure, but it's weak and sluggish, barely detectable.

"Tell me about these breaches," Wally asks, arms folded, projecting an indefinable strength in his silver-red mask.

Barry slides his own cowl off, letting himself breathe a little – half-Flash, half-Barry – before responding, "We can talk about it later. I have to talk to Iris."

"No," Wally says, stepping forward. There's a frown on his lips, like he can't quite believe what he's hearing. He's less than two feet away and for the first time Barry feels the strength of those other speedsters, wondering if he isn't doomed to repeat history.

 _Wally's on your side_.

He tells him, "I have to talk to Iris," and thinks about leaving him there.

Wally catches him mid-run, pinning him against a wall.

Barry narrows his eyes. "Wally."

"What _aren't_ you telling me?" Wally demands, looking hurt, confused, _angry._

"Let me go," Barry says, keeping his voice neutral, "and I'll tell you."

Wally flashes him an almost-amused smile. "I'm not stupid."

"I'm not saying you are."

Wally lets him go, folding his arms. "Talk."

Barry thinks, _I know my speed. You don't know yours. You can't make me do anything._

But that isn't true. Wally has been a speedster for less than eight weeks and he can already _outrun_ Barry.

So he says, "Let's talk in the cortex," and lets Wally lead the way.

"Sure you want to tell him?" Cisco asks, voice hushed, as he walks alongside Barry.

Barry puts a hand on his shoulder and squeezes it. "He was going to find out eventually. He needs to know what happened. Let's just . . . get it over with."

He's already thinking about the news' reports, how the rookie Flash will be talked about with more fervor now, his first truly public appearance. No longer a rumor.

 _He deserves to know what happened_.

When they're standing across from each other – Wally with his mask off, Barry with his off, too, and Cisco and Harrison moderating from behind the central console – Barry begins in a slightly hollowed out voice, "You remember Zoom?"

"Blue lightning," Wally says, nodding.

Barry clears his throat. "I didn't kill him."

Wally blinks. Then he says, with a grin that's almost humored, "You're kidding." When Barry's expression doesn't change, Wally exhales hard. "You're not kidding."

"No," Barry says. He thinks, _Oliver would have killed him_. And Oliver doesn't even kill people anymore.

But Zoom would be an exception. Zoom had to be.

"So . . . what does the giant gorilla have to do with Zoom?" Wally asks.

Barry smiles. It isn't pleasant. "If the giant gorilla is here . . . then there's a good possibility Zoom will be here soon, too."

 _You should have killed him._

Limbo was an alternative. A space where Zoom couldn't hurt anyone.

All Barry had to do was draw him in and then destroy the doors. Let him live in the Speed Force. Let him suffer quietly forever.

But speedsters don't like cages. Zoom wanted _out_. And he'd ripped a hole in space doing it.

 _Maybe it's not him_ , Barry tries to tell himself. _Maybe it was an anomaly. An accident_.

There's a giant gorilla in their basement that argues otherwise.

"I need to talk to Iris," he says quietly, imperatively, moving towards the door.

This time, no one stops him.

. o .

On the outskirts of town, ten miles away, a speedster emerges from a breach.

Electric blue eyes. Familiar black suit. Heavy, exhausted breath.

Looking around, the speedster walks through the grassy outlands of Central City, moving inexorably towards it.

 _This needs to end_ , he thinks, every heartbeat hurting, every muscle locked. _This needs to end_.

It doesn't matter who dies. Thousands more will die if he doesn't do this. He doesn't have instructions, but he has a single goal.

 _Kill him._

As the sun goes down, the blue-eyed speedster walks towards the city.


End file.
